


Softly, Gently

by LuluMizzy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blankets, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Light-Hearted, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuluMizzy/pseuds/LuluMizzy
Summary: A quiet evening in Baker Street full of soft conversation and gentle kisses.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Edited only by myself and not Brit-picked. Any mistakes are all my own.

Sherlock heaved a sigh and trudged up the stairs to 221B, feet falling heavily on each one. His lack of sleep was catching up to him. His everyday suit and tight shirt were becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the day wore on, and he was looking forward to changing into a ratty t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He closed the door to the flat wordlessly and glanced at their sitting room. John was lounging in his chair, paperback in hand, with a cup of tea at his left elbow. The soft glow of the lamp highlighted what was left of the blonde in John's hair and the crinkles around his eyes left from smiles. Sherlock's chest ached pleasantly.

"Welcome back," John said, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock, who had started taking off his scarf and gloves. "I made dinner while you were out. Nothing fancy, just some stew. I left it covered on the stove in case you felt like eating."

Sherlock considered it as he hung his coat on the hook at the back of the door. His insides were feeling a bit cold and empty. He couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything this morning. Better have a little if only to make John happy. Sherlock knew eating John's cooking would bring that soft smile to his face that Sherlock loved. "I might," Sherlock conceded. He gave John a little upturn of his lips and headed towards his bedroom to change. 

He returned to the kitchen, dressing gown draped over his shoulders, and began rummaging in the cabinets for a bowl. Looking down at the stovetop, Sherlock could see inside a hearty beef stew with carrots and onions. His mouth watered at the smell. "Looks good," he called out to John before ladling himself a serving. Sherlock carried his meal to his chair and sat down heavily.

"So how'd your experiment go?" John asked, setting aside his book to focus on Sherlock. Sherlock watched him pick up his tea and take a sip, nose crinkling slightly at the lukewarm temperature. 

Sherlock glanced down at his stew, stirring it once with his spoon before answering, "Boring. Spent too much time focusing on the wrong things." He ate a spoonful, curling up in his chair even more as the tension began to leave his body. As always, John's cooking was a comfort. "In the end I was barely able to salvage anything worthwhile."

John smiled warmly at him. "Well, at least you got some data." Sherlock nodded and continued eating. "Bit chilly outside. Think I'll light a fire."

Sherlock said nothing and watched John get up from his chair. He worked carefully and soon had a lovely little fire blazing away in their fireplace. Sherlock smiled impishly around his spoon when he got an eyeful of John, crouching low to feed the flames and make sure it stayed alight. 

"I love you," Sherlock murmured softly, so quiet he wasn't sure if he'd actually said it aloud. John stood up gently, as to not break the moment. He turned to smile at Sherlock, hair glowing in the firelight.

"I love you too you Berk." John walked over easily and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused only the soft pressure of John's lips to his skin. His chest ached pleasantly again.

Sherlock sighed as John pulled away. "Finish your supper and maybe we'll have a cuddle," John said, eyebrows raised playfully. He took his seat and began reading once more. Sherlock couldn't fathom how John did that sometimes. Sherlock always wanted John, wanted to be near him, to touch him. John had so much more self-control than Sherlock did, being able to sit down and seemingly ignore his desire to be near to him. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply through his nose, before turning his attention back to the stew. He began spooning it quickly into his mouth, barely tasting it anymore.

"Ah, don't make yourself sick," John admonished. He turned a page in his book, his socked foot nudging Sherlock's gently.

"I'm not," Sherlock answered, mouth full. John shook his head fondly and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just...eating." John bit his lip to keep from smiling too wide and glanced back down at his book. 

The fire cracked and popped merrily, adding to the warmth of the evening. Sherlock stretched out his legs even further, making sure they pressed nicely against John's. He ate another spoonful of stew, attempting to make eye contact with John the entire time. John didn't look up, but Sherlock counted it as a win anyways because John's eyes were staring resolutely at the same spot on his page. Sherlock finished the last of his food in the orange light of the fire, relaxing at the subtle scent of burning wood and the homey smell of the flat and John's laundry detergent. 

"Done," Sherlock declared, setting his empty bowl on the table with a loud clank. 

John looked up, eyes twinkling brightly. "Well come on then," he murmured and stood up. Sherlock stood up too, stretching mildly. Their chests almost brushed due to the proximity of their chairs. John ran his hands lightly down Sherlock's sides beneath his outstretched arms before pulling him into a gentle embrace. Sherlock smiled into the crook of John's neck, breathing him in. 

"Although pleasant, not quite the cuddle I was hoping for," Sherlock whispered, lips tickling John's neck. Sherlock could almost hear John's smile when he wordlessly lumbered slowly over to their couch, not breaking their hug. John sat down heavily into the leather sofa, bringing Sherlock down with him. Sherlock giggled softly, falling into John's arms even more. 

"What about a blanket?" Sherlock pulled back to look at John's face.

"Do we really need a blanket with the fire going?" John asked.

"It's winter and cold outside, let us have a blanket." Sherlock reached over John's shoulder to grab at the tartan blanket lying across the back of the sofa. He dragged it across the both of them and snuggled into John. 

"Well alright then," John murmured, grabbing the edge of the red and green wooly blanket and tugging it into place. He adjusted Sherlock slightly so he could lean into the armrest and Sherlock's head lay comfortably on his chest. "That better?"

"Mmmm much," Sherlock hummed, eyes closed and arms twining around John's middle. John draped one arm across Sherlock's back and let his other hand gently ruffle Sherlock's curly hair. "Thank you," Sherlock muttered.

"Of course love," John whispered, eyes drooping slightly. He continued running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. They stayed that way for quite some time, long enough for the fire to burn low and go out. Long enough that the evening turned to night and a comfortable silence enveloped the flat. John woke from his doze, finding the sitting room lit only by lamplight. He could hear Sherlock snoring softly into his chest and smiled.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, shaking him gently by the shoulder. “I think we should head to bed now.”

Sherlock buried his head deeper into John’s jumper covered chest and sighed drowsily. “Do we have to?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

“You know we can’t sleep on the couch like this anymore, not through the night.”

“…fine.” Sherlock sat up slowly, curls a bit fluffier than before. John chuckled quietly and cupped Sherlock’s face, kissing him gently. Sherlock hummed happily and pulled John closer into him, his movements still slow with torpor. John pulled away reluctantly and stroked Sherlock’s cheek with the pads of his fingers. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into John’s hand. 

“That was nice,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“Yes it was,” John said softly. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead before pulling away and tapping Sherlock’s side. “Time to get up now and get to bed.”

Sherlock’s sigh sounded put upon, but he stood up. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand, pulling him up too. “To bed.”

They walked hand in hand to the bedroom, blanket trailing behind them like a shadow. Before climbing into bed, Sherlock pulled it up around the both of them, like a soft shield to keep out the world, to let them exist just by themselves for a little longer. 

“I love you,” he said for a second time that night. 

“I love you too you Berk.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this image in my head of John and Sherlock cuddling on the couch under a tartan blanket in the chill of January for awhile now. I think I coped with season four by writing this. I haven't written fanfiction in four years, and this is my first Sherlock fanfic. Would love any feedback and critique!


End file.
